Birthday blessings . . . . .

 

 

It was 53 years ago that this boy entered our life, at a time when his brother was ten and his sister thirteen. And I was 39. And Gene was 40.

At the time that was considered rather an old age to be having children. I remember when he was in kindergarten one of his classmates asked why his grandparents  came to school on parents day.

And yet when he was born it made me ten years younger. I was a young mother again, doing all the things young mothers do.

I have kept those ten years.  It was a gift. And now, at 92, people ask me why I look so young for my age.

Thanks, Tom, and happy birthday

Fly me to the moon . . . . .

 

Did you ever wish for something and then were told to forget it . . could never happen . . chances are one in a million.. But then it did happen?

Tuesday, after a family get together in Texas, several of us were booked to start our return home on a flight from Austin to Houston. And it was there at the Southwest gate that we were met by the First Officer himself, my son Tom.

 

We boarded early and, as you see, I had a quick lesson in piloting. As we prepared to leave, Tom announced on his mike that it would have to be a good flight because his mother was on board.

I can’t help remembering when Tom was a little boy traveling with us. He was a late child, ten years behind the others, so he always sat in front with us. But not on the seat.

He sat on that little pull-down armrest in the middle.

So cute. So dangerous. But this was before seat belts and government concern about our safety. I remember that the other two kids were all over the back seat and sometimes lying on that space under the back window.

Now if you are wondering who all these other people in the picture are, follow left to right:  my son John, my son Tom the pilot,, my great grandson Justin Schroeder, my grandson Dr. Jason  Schroeder Markland, my grandson  Richard Walters.

It was a good flight.

There’s a reason for everything . . . .

 

 

Yes, this is me when I was a little girl.

Every once in a while something happens that takes me back to when I was that little girl. Lessons we learned then are etched in our little minds. and will be there forever.

I’ve done some stupid things lately.  Like this morning a friend was coming to pick me up to take me to the bus station so the bus could take me to the airport. I was up early, bathed and packed, when I looked at the notes by my telephone and discovered I had given her the time the bus would leave in Omaha next week to take me home.

Or the day that i spent an hour looking for my earrings . . . and they were in my ears.

Or the day, you will remember, that I turned on my fireplace when the air conditioning was running.

And yet this sort of thing can be explained.

I was a good girl. I learned my lessons and I remembered them.

So this morning I thought about some of my recent silly mistakes and I found my answer. I know exactly how they happen and why. It all stems back to my mother and her advice that often started with the words “If I’ve told you once . . . ”

And then she gave me this rule that I still follow, to this day:

 ACT YOUR AGE

 

 

 

 

 

Look! Look! THE BOOK THE BOOK . . . . .

Egads! I found it on Amazon before I had even received the first, the author’s copy.  Anyway, it’s out, it’s for sale, and this is a rather poor picture I took of it sitting on my kitchen counter.

If you should want to order copies for yourself or for gifts I would certainly appreciate your doing it with     iUniverse.com/bookstore.     It is advertised on Amazon as well, but I must say that Amazon keeps most of the money, and I have an investment to recover. The book is also available in Norfolk, Ne at the Main St Bookstore and at the Abbey bookstore.  (or will be . . they’ve been ordered, not in yet)

I especially wanted to include older people among my readers so I put this book in larger print and in the old familiar Times Roman font, which for some reason is now rather out of style.

As you read, be aware of the section titles. The first section is Small Talk, and that is exactly what its brief stories are. Stuff we might exchange over coffee.

The second section is called Simply Sharing, and I am indeed simply sharing some experiences and what I learned from them, lessons about life.

The third section is called Soul Talk and here I talk about truths I have discovered, ideas that made sense, feelings and thoughts about life now and in the future. The reader must continue to be aware of the book title . . MY HALF of the conversation.

So I’ve left blank pages in the back of the book for the reader’s notes on their half of the conversation. I have encouraged them to send some of their thoughts to me, and I’ve given my email address and blog address. I do so hope my readers will share. And if they do, in numbers, can you guess what the title of my next book will be? What a great idea, eh?

Now I will be busy giving readings in libraries around this part of the state, maybe dipping into Iowa and South Dakota as well. Even though I no longer drive, thanks to my cautious children, and will have drivers to deliver me and my books. Let us hope we can hold back the snow for a while and keep the sun shining. Sharing is the part I like best about writing.

That’s why I have a blog.                                             – D. M.

It has been a long lush autumn. Light sweater days, sometimes reverting to sunny hot days. The grass is still bright green and some flowers still bloom. It seems no one is in a hurry . . . except one.

Note the maple trees in front of my house. I can think of the one on the right as being the mother and the one on the left a child. I can almost hear mamma saying, “Here, child, why on earth are you taking your clothes off? For heaven’s sake it’s not even bedtime. What will people think? Have I taught you nothing? After this, follow your mother and do what she does. Good lord. What next?

A little lesson came with rain . . . . .

It’s October so it should feel like fall. Yet it has been such a summery fall that yesterday was a surprise.  It was raining and finally a few leaves were drifting down in its streams. Rainy days are dreamy days to me. It was cool and I decided to turn on the fireplace to initiate fall. I was in and out of the room, but finally decided to sit own and just enjoy it. Sitting by a fire is always a comfort, a dreamy restful thing.

Other times I had found I could not run the fireplace for long periods of time or it grew too warm in the room. But this day the temperature remained comfortable. It was just right. As I began to wonder about that I became aware of a subtle sound in the room. It was the sound of the air conditioner!

Now this is a good example of the familiar phrase “You can’t have it both ways.”

Or it reminds me of times when I said I didn’t know if I was coming or going.

I decided my lesson for the day was this:  You can be happy and comfortable day to day if you have chosen your mood and  remember to set the controls.

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BREAKING NEWS. . . well yes it is . . . . . isn’t it?

I love it when good things remain good things, when a good recipe always turns out to be a good recipe. When a person can say “No, I’m not adding nuts to this recipe. I’m allergic to nuts.”

I had thought Facebook a good thing, and for several years have enjoyed reading the Facebook entries after breakfast. Nice to know what friends are doing, what they are  thinking, and to see their wonderful pictures . . . even though many of them are photos of their dog or their cat that look just like yesterday’s picture of their dog or their cat.

But things grew out of hand. I don’t know how unknowns got onto my list of invited friends, but somehow my Facebook page grew and grew, into a community of strangers.  I know that I can single one out and “defriend” him. But, well, here’s what I posted on Facebook this morning:

DEAR FACEBOOK

I’ve been on your page for two hours now and have not reached the end of today’s posts. I am still in my nightgown, out of coffee, out of patience. As if it is not enough that I don’t know most of the people and most of these people don’t know me, you are now popping up on my screen, every few minutes, a box informing me that Sally Stranger has just posted a comment on Charley Whosit’s page. As if I should care. Really, I should have done something about all of this long ago. But <sigh> I was taught to be so damned polite.

Some of the things I enjoy on my computer screen are meant to be informative. And I believe in the early days they were informative. But they have grown into something else.

I suppose it’s inevitable. Supposing Molly and I used to have coffee together twice a week, sitting over the kitchen table, sharing stories about our families, our lives, our thoughts and opinions. We loved it. We were usually in agreement about most things but if not we listened agreeably because we were close friends and we learned from each other.

But then suppose neighbors began dropping in and soon we had to put a leaf in the table. Now we have more stories, more opinions. And we have enough people that they can break into factions of agreement and disagreement. In time this coffee clache will clash, and eventually it will smash against a wall that it built.

For the most part, I believe, in earlier days we read news that was news. New to us because it had happened yesterday but we didn’t hear about it until today. Today we might hear about an event seconds after it happened. We will hear about it from several sources, and all of their accounts will be different from the start . . . but remarkably different when all the news pundits give their version of the event on the next day or week or month. No one stops talking about it because each believes his version of it is the correct one.

Then the unprofessionals, in their homes, on their computers, add their voices, giving their opinions, no doubt inspired by the version of the news they had read, but also inspired by their own version of life as they have lived it. And no two of us are alike, no two have led the same life, had the same needs, found the same answers.

Confusion enters this world that we share when so many voices speak to interpret what we need to know. How can I be seeing and hearing fifteen versions of an event? Who are these writers and speakers? Witnesses? Interpreters? Copiers? Distorters?  Wannabees? Sheep?

News is news. Just give it to me straight. As I said, I don’t want to add nuts to this recipe. I am allergic to nuts.

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